


On the Edge of the Brokilon

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (Books) [25]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Belts, Book: Czas pogardy | The Time of Contempt, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spanking, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: “I feel guilty. I didn’t do anything right; I didn’t know what to do. But now I know. I want to go with you. I want to be by your side. I never told you … about Ciri and the rumors that are circulating… But let … let me tell you …”After finding him in Brokilion, Dandelion feels that he owes Geralt an explanation and an apology.Whumptober Day 17: I Did Not See That Coming
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (Books) [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624276
Comments: 26
Kudos: 62
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this is head canon based since Dandelion doesn’t really tell us how he thought he betrayed Geralt. 
> 
> (everything through “You can tell me on the way” is from the book).
> 
> Prompt:  
> No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING  
> Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

Dandelion stood at the edge of the Brokilon, watching as Geralt approached with two horses, his own gelding Pegasus, and another, an unfamiliar mare.

“Are we leaving?”

“You’re leaving,” said the Witcher, throwing the poet Pegasus’s reins. “Farewell, Dandelion,” he said brusquely. “The dryads will escort you a couple of miles upstream so you won’t fall into the hands of the soldiers from Brugge, who are probably still hanging around on the far bank.”

“What about you? Are you staying here?”

“No. I’m not.”

“You’ve learned something,” guessed Dandelion. “From the Squirrels. You know something about Ciri, don’t you?”

“Farewell, Dandelion.”

The poet’s stomach churned with guilt. He knew why Geralt wanted rid of him - it was why he’d ventured into Brokilon to find the Witcher in the first place. He owed him great deal of apologies and groveling for his forgiveness. Every limping step Geralt took only drove that point further home. “Geralt, Listen to me—”

“Listen to what?” snapped the Witcher, before his voice suddenly faltered. “I can’t leave—I can’t just leave her to her fate. She’s completely alone … She cannot be left alone, Dandelion. You’ll never understand that. No one will ever understand that, but I know. If she remains alone, the same thing will happen to her as once happened to me … You’ll never understand that …”

“I do understand, which is why I’m coming with you.”

“You’re insane.” Geralt wouldn’t look at him, focused instead on his mare. “Do you know where I’m headed?”

“Yes, I do. Geralt, I—I haven’t told you everything.” Dandelion looked away, curling his fingers through Pegasus’ mane nervously. “I’m … I feel guilty. I didn’t do anything right; I didn’t know what to do. But now I know. I want to go with you. I want to be by your side. I never told you … about Ciri and the rumors that are circulating. I met some acquaintances from Kovir, and they in turn had heard the reports of some envoys who had returned from Nilfgaard … I imagine those rumors may even have reached the Squirrels’ ears. That you’ve already heard everything from those elves who crossed the Ribbon. But let … let me tell you …”

The Witcher stood thinking for a long time, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “Get on your horse,” he finally said, his voice sounding different. “You can tell me on the way.”

They rode in silence for a while, Dandelion in no hurry to confess his sins, until Geralt finally said, “I believe that you’re of the opinion that you owe me an explanation.”

“I do.”

“We have all the time in the word, as it were, but if I know you, you’d prefer to get it over with.” 

Dandelion let out a quiet sigh. “Oh, Geralt, I don’t know where to begin, I’ll truly failed you- I- I don’t know if-”

“Start with what you didn’t tell me, and then you can get on to what you told Dijkstra, as I imagine that plays a part.”

“It might.” Dandelion curled his fingers in his horse’s mane. “There were a lot of rumors, Geralt,” he said softly. “I- I meant to protect you, you see? By not telling you all of them. I’ve done it for years... But the stakes may have been higher this time.”

“Hmmm.”

“The Emperor of Nilfgaard wants her, I’ve know that for a long time, everyone has. He believes that she has some sort of power-”

“I know all of this, Dandelion.”

“He wants to rule the Continent-”

“Of course he does.”

“Geralt-”

“Dandelion.” The Witcher turned in his saddle. “I take it back. I don’t want to listen to your prattling, your pitiful platitudes, or to rumors that have long since passed my ears.”

“Geralt-”

“Tell me whatever it is that’s got you near tears, Dandelion, that’s what interests me. I’m guessing it’s to do with Dijkstra, you damnable spy.”

Dandelion looked down. “I told him about Rience before I told you.”

“Of course you did, I wasn’t there for you to tell. Stop beating about the bush and tell me what you’ve fucked up this time.”

Dandelion’s mouth was dry. “I told him about meeting you, on the Yaruga, when I told you that Cintra had been sacked. I told him how you responded, how grieved you were. I- Geralt I fear it may have played into his conviction that you had her.”

“Of course it did,” said Geralt.

Dandelion chewed at his lip. “I told him that you had spoken with Yennefer and Triss Merigold, I- I thought to outsmart him-”

“Never try that, Dandelion.”

Suddenly defensive, Dandelion snapped. “I’ve done it before!”

“And I’m telling you not to try it again, as it’s evident that, when things involving you and Dijkstra go poorly then it’s all at one and in a catastrophic way.”

“I meant for him to harass them instead, but he couldn’t locate them, so he came to me for more information. I was frightened Geralt, it- it was while we were hunting Reince, I was still seeing him around every corner, thinking he would-“

Geralt’s voice softened, “It was Dijkstra’s men you were seeing, Dandelion. And I wouldn’t have let Reince get you again.”

“I know, Geralt, I know.” He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

“Stop fidgeting, Dandelion, you’ll bother your poor, gelded Pegasus.” Geralt glanced back at him, fiddling with Pegasus’ reins. “Have you got a burr up your ass or are you afraid of the whipping you think you’ve earned?”

Dandelion sighed. Quietly he whispered, “I told him you were going to Thanned.” For a long moment, Dandelion was silent, waiting for a response from Geralt.

Finally Geralt said, “I suppose that’s not even the worst of it?”

“No.”

Geralt halted, holding his horse still until Dandelion was beside him. “Did you say one word to him about Ciri?”

“No, Geralt. I always told him that I knew nothing about her. That I’d never seen her or-”

“That name never crossed your lips?”

“No.”

“Good.” He kicked his horse on. “If it had, I’d have left you here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Dandelion, but I imagine there’s more to tell me.”

“I spoke to him again. When you had gone to the party with Yennefer.”

“You were meant to be watching Ciri and my swords, Dandelion.”

“I did. I-” Dandelion fidgeted again. “The way you were talking Geralt- you kept taking contracts, anything you could get your hands on- I- I thought you must have needed the coin-”

“Dandelion, you fool poet.”

“I meant well,” he croaked.

Geralt only grunted in responce.

“I knew he was there, so I hid Ciri and went to meet him. He knew you had Ciri, by that point, so I had to think quickly, I let him believe that she was on the island. I told him that you had gone there with Yennefer, so what else was he to believe?”

Geralt said nothing.

Dandelion spurred his horse on, catching up to Geralt, although the Witcher didn’t turn to look at him. “Everything went to shit so quickly, Geralt. I- I found her, I told her to stay put, that I would get you and that we could leave together-”

“She wanted to get to me?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“I took you your swords. By the time I got back, Ciri was gone.” He didn't have to summarize the rest. Geralt knew it as well as he did. That was when Geralt's leg had been injured, when Triss Merigold had taken him to Brokilon, near death. When they'd lost Ciri.

Geralt fell silent.

They rode in silence for some time, the bard lagging further and further behind Geralt, until Dandelion couldn’t take it anymore and sped his horse up. Once he was beside Geralt again he asked, “Geralt? Geralt, are you upset with me?”

For a long time, the Witcher was silent. Just as Dandelion was about to risk speaking again, repeating his question, the Witcher spoke. “We'll make camp tonight. I’ll lash you after supper,” he said tersely. “And that will be the end of it.”

“Of course, Geralt.” Looking at Geralt’s stony face, Dandelion couldn’t help but feel that, for once, the whipping would be as much for Geralt’s benefit as it would be to alleviate Dandelion’s guilt. The thought sent a chill down his spine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're thinking "wait, didn't this say it only had two chapters" well, you wouldn't be wrong. This story has a mind of it's own and has grown to at least five chapters. 
> 
> What can I say? The boys are sad and have a lot of inner monologues.

Geralt’s silence was unsettling.

He barely spoke after pronouncing Dandelion’s fate, leaving the poet to stew in his own thoughts. Geralt would forgive him - he wouldn’t whip him if he wasn’t going to, Dandelion was certain of that - but the poet wasn’t entirely sure that would be enough to alleviate his own guilt. 

And even the knowledge of impending forgiveness wasn’t enough to cancel out Geralt’s silence.

“Geralt,” Dandelion finally broke the terse silence as Geralt set up their camp. He’d ordered the poet to start a fire - a small one, so that the smoke wouldn’t call too much attention - and once Dandelion had done that he’d sat uselessly beside it, watching as Geralt sorted through their supplies and untacked their mounts. When no answer came he tried again, “Geralt-”

“I heard you the first time poet, and the answer is no.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say-”

“Something about your stomach, I imagine, you’re not as creative as you think.” Geralt tossed him their bedrolls, then pointed to where he wanted them. The poet hurried to obey. “You want your lashing now, so you don’t have to sit and wait and think on it anymore. You’ll say something about how a lashing on a full stomach would make you ill, which is true enough I suppose-”

“Oh, thank you-”

“Which is why you’re free to wait to eat until after you’ve received your lashing, but I’m eating first because my stomach is rumbling and I’ve had a long day.”

Dandelion’s shoulders drooped. 

Geralt took his cloak and shook it out, then spread it on a bit of flat ground near the water’s edge. Dandelion supposed it must have gotten damp.

After he’d finished unpacking Geralt joined him by the fire with their rations, which he offered to Dandelion, but the bard only shook his head. Geralt shrugged and started to eat.

“If you’re just going to sit there,” said Geralt, his mouth full of food. “You might as well ready yourself.” He tossed a small object that landed on the ground in front of Dandelion. “Take my knife and cut me a switch. Then get undressed and wait for me.”

“Undressed?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?” squeaked Dandelion.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said with a brusque nod. Dandelion stood and stepped away, but then Geralt called after him, “One more thing. I’ll let you chose the method. It will hurt the same, either way, but since we’re to ride tomorrow…. Your arse or your back, let me know once you’ve cut the switch.” Then he returned to his food, pointedly ignoring Dandelion.

Dandelion’s hands trembled slightly as he stepped into the woods, locating a supple young tree and breaking off a branch. He’d expected Geralt to use his belt, it seemed to be the Witcher’s favored implement, after all (other than his hand, and Dandelion had known from the beginning that he would get more than that). 

A switch was new, unexpected, and Dandelion didn’t like it.

His father had used a switch on him more times than he could count, and the thought of them still turned his stomach. _I’ll tell Geralt_ , he thought, _he’ll understand and take his belt to me, or perhaps a riding crop._

But even with that conviction Dandelion’s hands kept moving, carefully cutting away the excess leaves until it was perfectly smooth. _Old habits die hard_. 

Switch in hand, Dandelion trotted back to Geralt, swallowing and debating how best to explain his aversion to the switch he’d meticulously carved, but before he could, Geralt shook his head. “Toss it in the woods.”

Dandelion jumped in surprise.

“No, I’m not displeased with it,” he said to Dandelion’s startled look. “But I’m not fond of using switches, I only needed something to keep you busy so that you wouldn’t fret yourself sick.”

Startled, Dandelion threw it behind him, not looking to see where it fell. He supposed it had kept him busy, although he didn't tell Geralt about his fear of it. “I’d prefer my back, Geralt, if it’s all the same to you.”

The Witcher was still eating and only nodded. “Kneel on my cloak. Fold it up if you’d like, I don’t want you to injure your knees.”

He moved slowly to the cloak, folding it up and testing it a few times before he was happy, then sinking to his knees to wait.

_I don’t know what his game is_ , the bard thought sullenly. _He’s trying to make me uncomfortable and, by the gods, it’s working_. Of course, Geralt didn't know about his fear of the switch, so he couldn't fault him for that, but the rest of it - the hours of silence, the waiting, Geralt's insistence on eating as slowly as possible - all it had to be purposeful. _Creative whoreson_. 

“Bend over.” Geralt’s voice startled him out of his thoughts.

Dandelion turned to look at him in surprise. At some point during his inner turmoil the Witcher had finished eating and was standing by the fire, watching Dandelion. “Press your forehead to your knees.”

It was an uncomfortable - and humiliating - position, but Dandelion assumed it without question. With his butt his on his feet and his face down, back arched upward, he couldn’t imagine what Geralt wanted from him.

Then something cold and damp pressed against his back. Dandelion squeaked in surprise and a shiver ran down his spine. “Settle down,” Geralt said, stepping back and leaving the soaking wet cloth to sit on Dandelion’s back. “The damp will make the belt sting more, so that I won’t have to hit as hard and risk breaking the skin.”

Dandelion whined softly, but the knowledge that Geralt didn’t intend to cut him settled his nerves somewhat.

After a moment, Geralt removed the cloth, tossing it to rest on the stones by the river. “Do you need something to bite?”

“Not as of yet.” Dandelion hoped that Geralt’s question wasn’t a sign of what was to come. He rarely needed anything to bite in his mouth during a whipping, Geralt was careful with him.

Before he could think anymore, pain exploded across his shoulders. “AH!” He hadn’t heard the belt crack, nor had Geralt given any sign that he was starting. Caught by surprise his instincts kicked in and he rolled to the side, pushing himself up to face Geralt.

“Hey!” The Witcher was suddenly kneeling beside him, grabbing his arm. “Dandelion, settle down!”

He didn’t sound angry, just startled, and the grip on his arm was surprisingly gentle, so Dandelion took a moment to compose himself before saying, “Geralt, I didn’t mean-”

“I know, Dandelion, I know.” Geralt's thumb traced circles on Dandelion's arm as he continued to grip him. 

“I- I’m fine now, Geralt.”

Geralt clucked his tongue, finally letting him go. “You’re filthy now, poet,” he grumbled. It was true. Dirt and bits of moss and bark had stuck to Dandelion’s damp skin when he’d rolled. The thought of having the belt drive them further into his skin terrified him.

“Let me-” He lunged for the stream, hoping to get himself cleaned.

But Geralt caught him, pushing him back to the cloak where he’d positioned him before. “Kneel back down,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ll wipe it off.”

Dandelion sat down, resting his forehead on his knees as he panted. Behind him, Geralt’s footsteps moved to the edge of the stream. Then he stopped.

For several moments, there wasn’t a sound from the Witcher, and Dandelion’s heart sped up, panic overtaking him until he finally risked turning his head. Geralt was standing by the water, rag in hand, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

Meeting Dandelion’s eyes, he finally stepped forward, kneeling beside him and briskly wiping down his shoulders and back. His shoulder where he’d already been struck smarted under the touch. 

“You’ll need to wash in the stream later,” Geralt said, “I won’t have you bathing first and your skin being too tender or you catching a cold.”

“I’m fine,” he whispered.

Geralt patted his shoulder before standing. “And you’ll remain that way, Dandelion.” He tossed the rag aside, yet again, then picked his belt up from the ground, apparently having dropped it when Dandelion panicked. “Sit up straight, for gods’ sake,” he said. “You’re not praying in a church.”

Dandelion did as he was told, lacing his fingers behind his neck so that he wouldn’t be tempted to cover his back. Geralt pushed his foot against Dandelion’s butt. “Kneel, don’t sit on your feet.” He pushed himself up. With his knees tucked beneath him and only his lower legs bent, he was barely two feet shorter than Geralt. It would certainly make his back an easy target, while also making his thighs burn from holding him up.

It certainly was an inventive sort of torment, and Dandelion almost hated Geralt for thinking it up.

“Do I need to count?” Geralt asked carefully. “I don’t want to catch you off guard, again, Dandelion.”

“No, Geralt,” he said. _Just get it over with_ , he wanted to plead.

This time, he heard the crack of the belt before he felt it. The strike landed across his lower back, below his ribs, and he lurched forward slightly, catching himself before he went too far.

There was a momentary pause, then another strike hit him just above the last. He whimpered and swallowed, a tremor running through him.

“I want you to count,” Geralt said abruptly. “That was three.” 

The next strike was closer to the first, and Dandelion gasped out, “Four.”

Geralt was barely hitting him, each strike stung, yes, but he’d had more painful strikes from Geralt’s hand before. But he didn’t ask what the Witcher was planning.

The next was just above his ass and he yelped, “Five!”

Something inside him stirred and Dandelion inwardly cursed. He was so preoccupied with his growing shame that he forgot to count the next strike until Geralt asked, “Have you forgotten what numbers are, Dandelion?”

“Six.” 

“Hmm,” said his friend. Dandelion couldn’t help but wonder if Geralt could smell his arousal. He knew the Witcher could smell such things, but hopefully the wind was blowing Dandelion’s scent in the opposite direction.

He liked a bit of pain, he wasn’t ashamed of that, but it was always humiliating when Geralt was truly punishing him and his body decided to react as though it were just a game. Dandelion squeezed his eyes shut and hoped Geralt didn’t notice, knowing that, eventually, the pain would be enough to kill his arousal.

Crack. “Eight.”

Behind him, he heard Geralt sniff and his face flushed redder than before. The humiliation of being caught was nearly enough to kill his growing erection, and the next strike, harder than any of the previous, and layered on top of another, finished the deed.

Dandelion let out a relived sigh. “Nine,” he said.

The following strike was more evenly measured, not as hard as the ninth, but rougher than all the previous. “Ten,” he choked.

The eleventh strike didn’t come. Just as Dandelion was considering turning to around to look at Geralt, hoping to read his expression for some idea of what was happening, the Witcher spoke, “What does Dijkstra have on you?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: You are being whipped, you are in physical pan  
> Dandelion: I know... I just want to talk about my feelings, that's all
> 
> Sometimes the characters just do their own thing and I, the writer, have no control over them.

The question caught Dandelion off guard and it took him a moment to process it.

“Dandelion,” said Geralt. “I asked you a question, bard. I know your back must smart, but your mouth is fine.”

“He knows who I am,” said Dandelion bluntly. “He knows my name, Geralt-”

“A fair number of people do, Julian. What else has he got on you, because it must be substantial. You wouldn’t care if it were just gossip on your general whoreishness.”

Dandelion’s face flushed red. “There are things I’ve done, Geralt, things that I’d rather-”

“You can tell me, Dandelion.” Was he hearing things, or was there a hint of compassion in Geralt’s voice?

He licked his lips and said, “Well, there’s a few journals I wrote- I don’t know how he got them- they- they’re clearly in my handwriting, so I couldn’t deny it- my penmanship is unmistakeable, after all…..” His voice trailed off.

The belt cracked over Dandelion’s shoulders, though with far less force than before. It was a caress, more than an actual strike, but it still smarted. “What’s in the journals, bard?”

He knew Geralt’s game now.

Humiliation was a punishment he’d remember a lot longer than the pain from the belt. He also knew that, if he truly didn’t want to tell Geralt, the Witcher would understand. Geralt wouldn’t force any secrets from him, he wasn’t that sort of man. He might make Dandelion pay, dole out some other punishment, but he’d never force him to speak.

But Dandelion trusted his friend. “I earned my degree fair and square Geralt, you know that. I worked my ass off for it, but I did sleep with two of my professors, which wouldn’t look good, as you can imagine. Nor would I want to cause them any grief.” He swallowed. “There’s also- well, oh this is embarrassing-”

“Dandelion.”

If possible, his face grew redder. “I allowed Valdo Marx to perform a number of humiliating acts on my person, and I might have written a few sonnets about him, which, as you can imagine, would cast a rather shameful light on our rivalry.”

“I imagine these journals also include the time you asked a Djinn to murder him?”

“Er, no, actually, they’re older than that, thankfully.”

“Hmmmm.” Geralt sounded almost amused, a low hum in his voice that was unmistakeable to those who knew him.

“There might be a few about you, Geralt." If possible, Dandelion's face grew even redder. "Sonnets, I mean. I was young, after all, and well, there was a time when I might have thought myself capable of faithfulness to one person. It’s not who I am, but you know how it is to be young and in love.”

“No, but you’re the expert on being dumb and in love, so I’ll take your word for it.” Geralt was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Anything else?”

“A few things I’d rather my half-brother never sees. I was angry when I wrote them, and, well, I enjoy having a conversation with him once in a while.”

“I see.”

Dandelion waited a beat, but the belt didn’t fall again. He glanced over his shoulder and eyed the implement, still hanging loosely from the Witcher’s hand. “Is that all, Geralt?”

“No.”

“Give me a moment then.” He crawled away, dipping trembling hands in the creek and lifting the water to his parched lips. Geralt waited patiently for him to return, sinking to his knees once more and clasping his hands behind his neck.

“You don’t need to count anymore,” Geralt said after a moment.

Dandelion let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“Do you need to bite something?”

The bard thought, then nodded. “Please.” He’d rather have it than have to stop Geralt and ask for it later.

Geralt stepped away. When he returned, he approached Dandelion slowly, crouching beside him and offering the poet the leather sheath from an old dagger. Dandelion took it in his mouth and was rewarded with a hand stroking his hair.

Then Geralt stepped back.

Dandelion closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose, waiting. A moment later he felt the belt snap over his shoulders. His teeth dug into the sheath and he grunted.

Even though the pain he could tell Geralt was still being oddly careful. Between each strike was a pause, as though Geralt was measuring them, focusing on where each one would fall and not using his full strength. Dragging the punishment out more rather than landing a few hard strikes and being done with it.

But that wasn’t to say it didn’t hurt.

He could no longer tell where each strike was landing, and was grateful that Geralt no longer was requiring him to count, when all his focus was needed to keep his breathing steady and his legs from falling out from under him. 

A particularly hard strike, just across the small of his back, caused him to gasp and lurch forward, dropping the sheath from his mouth. “Straighten up!” called Geralt, quickly adding, “when you can.” He waited, giving Dandelion time to catch his breath, fumble for the sheath, and clamp it back between his teeth before he resumed.

It felt as though it would never end. Dandelion’s face was damp with tears, sweat dripped down his chest. Something was running down his back, a horrible little voice in his head feared it was blood, but he pushed it aside. Geralt would never allow him to drip blood.

He wanted to shout at Geralt to stop, but instead dug his teeth into the sheath and squeezed his eyes shut.

But the pain was rapidly mounting.

His legs trembled, near to giving way. The sheath fell from his mouth. “Geralt!” One last strike hit him and he felt it vividly, landing across both shoulders. His legs buckled.

Dandelion fell forward, fully expecting to plow headfirst into the dirt and grass, but an arm around his waist caught him. “I’ve got you, Dandelion,” Geralt said. “Settle down.”

“G-give me ah- a moment,” Dandelion mumbled. “Let me catch my breath and-”

“We’re done.” The Witcher’s voice was terse, and it took a moment for to process that he was cradled more than just supported. 

A hand rested on his shoulder. “Come here, you stupid poet,” Geralt murmured, turning him around to face him. Dandelion laid his head on Geralt’s shoulder, sobbing.

“Geralt- Geralt I- I-”

“Hush, you don’t need to speak,” said Geralt, a hint of gentleness creeping into his tone. “Settle yourself, bard, and then we’ll talk.” 

He was vaguely aware that he was being moved, pulled a bit closer to the stream. But his focus remained on the burn in his back and Geralt’s careful touch.

The damp rag from before made its return, but rather than pressed against his back, Geralt rubbed it across Dandelion’s face and down his neck to settle him. Several minutes passed in silence, the cooling cloth eventually being exchanged for fingers carding gently through his hair.

Finally, his voice returned. “Geralt, I- I’m terribly sorry.”

“I know, Dandelion.” There was a pause, then he added, “I forgive you, you fool bard. I know you, after all, and you’d never have done it out of malicious intent. It’s not your fault that you’re a damn fool.” Geralt’s voice carried a fond, almost amused tone that lightened Dandelion’s heart more than his words. 

Dandelion whined and shifted against him. “I’m hungry,” he mumbled.

There were still words that needed to be said, but neither of them seemed ready at the moment. Instead, Geralt carefully helped Dandelion to his feet and guided him over to the fire. Once he was settled, Geralt pulled food out of their supplies.

Dandelion dug through his own bag at the same time, finding a pouch and tossing it to Geralt. The Witcher glanced at him as he passed Dandelion his meal.

Geralt looked at the bag. “What’s this?”

“Dijkstra’s last payment.”

“It’s your coin, bard.”

“Its blood money,” Dandelion said softly. “I don’t want it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, we have no idea what Dijkstra has on Dandelion so I made it all up lol. 
> 
> Dandelion's half brother is also a character I created. He was mentioned in a few fics and I keep meaning to flesh him out more because I adore him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO WHO WANTS ANGSTY GERALT

Dandelion whimpered in his sleep.

Geralt’s eyes flicked open, glancing over at him. _He’s only going to slow me down_ , he thought. _I ought to tell him to leave_.

But he couldn’t. It seemed he could never deny Dandelion anything.

The Witcher pushed himself up, poking at the embers of their fire with a stick, a scowl on his face. With a growl he pushed himself up, stomped across the camp to the stream, and located the switch he’d made Dandelion cut.

The bard had done an admirable job of it. It was exactly the sort of stick Geralt would have chosen, springy and supple, and he’d carved off all the extra leaves and twigs. In all honesty, he’d expected the switch to be terribly made. He’d never made Dandelion carve a switch before, and he couldn’t fathom who had taught him. Had it been the teachers at his Temple School (no, Dandelion had claimed they preferred a cane).

“Your father, then?” he asked the sleeping bard, running his hand down the switch. The thought made him sick.

Geralt threw it into the fire with disgust, reigniting the flames with a flick of his hand and watching as it crackled and burned.

Dandelion grunted in his sleep and Geralt watched him for a moment, making sure the fire hadn’t woken him, then he slowly sat beside it, staring into the flames once again.

His knee ached, something he supposed he was just going to have to get used to. The dryads could have healed it better, if he’d stayed, but he’d already spent long enough in Brokilon. There was no point dallying any longer.

Beside the fire lay the coin pouch Dandelion had given him, the so-called blood money. He’d been taking all those contracts to keep his mind off Ciri, but of course Dandelion hadn’t understood that. They were always low on funds, Geralt because no one wanted to pay him and Dandelion because he spent it as soon as he got it.

It had always worked well enough for them before, so he wasn’t certain why it had suddenly bothered Dandelion so much.

“I shouldn’t have left you for two years,” he decided. “You’ve forgotten how things work.” Or perhaps he’d been afraid Geralt wasn’t going to come back, that he’d found himself something better.

“I wasn’t replacing you, with Ciri,” he said. “Not with Yen, either. You’re my bard, Dandelion, they can’t replace that. Who else would wail foolish love songs at me?”

Dandelion whimpered again.

Unable to bear it any longer, Geralt slid closer to the bard, pulling his head into his lap and stroking his hair. Predictably, Dandelion continued to sleep, but some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to fade.

He’d opted to sleep shirtless, giving Geralt a good view of his punished back. The Witcher could find no fault in his handiwork - he hadn’t broken the skin, and only a few of the strikes had welted. It would be mottled black and blue soon, and in time would fade to nothing but an unpleasant memory.

Hopefully it would be memorable. 

“I’ll give you a salve in the morning,” Geralt found himself saying. “Hmm. Or perhaps I ought to wait until midday, make you squirm a bit longer.” He’d enjoyed it before, watching Dandelion whine and wriggle about in his saddle with a sore ass. But this time was different, this time he’d been truly upset with the poet. There’s been no sexual undertones to what he’d done, so there would be no enjoyment from watching him squirm. “No, you can have it after you’ve woken, that way we won’t need to stop at midday.”

He wrapped one of Dandelion’s ringlets around his finger, studying the golden strands. His eyes flicked to the poet’s face, peaceful in sleep. He hadn’t enjoyed whipping him and he certainly hadn’t enjoyed humiliating him. Not when he’d listened him to explain what he’d told Dijkstra and not when he’d forced him to recount the misadventures of his youth.

He’d been genuinely angry at Dandelion, but it had quickly faded. The bard was a difficult man to stay upset with. As he himself had said, he’d meant well, and how could Geralt fault him for that?

There were too few people who cared at all about him, let alone enough to attempt to outsmart someone like Dijkstra.

His fingers tightened in Dandelion’s hair, causing the bard to shiver, but he didn’t wake. For a moment, Geralt transported back to the previous evening, to Dandelion’s panic after the first strike.

“I thought about calling the whole ordeal off, you know,” Geralt grumbled. “When you flinched away from me.” He couldn’t get the image out of his head, it would surely stick with him for the rest of his life. Dandelion, who always trusted him, rolling away, then looking back, eyes full of fright. And then it had seemed that the bard thought he would consider whipping him through the grime.

If he closed his eyes, he could still clearly remember kneeling beside a trembling Dandelion, wiping dirt from his shoulders. He’d struggled internally with himself, about if he ought to put it off until the bard had calmed, or stop the whole ordeal all together.

He’d intentionally built it up in Dandelion’s mind, convinced him it would be a traumatic affair, that the bard would be in agony for days. He known that would leave as much of an impression as actually beating him within an inch of his life. He hadn’t realized how successful his ploy had been.

“Sentimental fool,” he muttered, although he wasn’t certain if he was referring to himself or the bard.

A whine echoed from Dandelion’s lips, and Geralt hushed him softly, leaning over him and murmuring in his ear until he settled.

The bard was never a quiet sleeper. At times he even talked in his sleep, but when he was upset or in pain was when he sounded the most pitiful, far too pathetic for a man near forty. But Geralt wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that.

Bent over Dandelion’s face as he was, the Witcher’s white hair tickled the bard’s face, and for a moment it seemed he would wake. But he then he just groaned and continued to sleep.

“It’s not that I care for Ciri or Yen more than you,” Geralt said, straightening up. “I care for them in a different way, you of all people ought to understand that. But Ciri is only a child, and you’re an adult Dandelion, so you’ll have to learn to act like one. I won’t always be here to get you out of trouble.”

He hadn’t told him about the premonitions he’d been having. The less Dandelion knew, the better. The bard would only worry. “I’m not going to survive this, Dandelion,” he said quietly. “But there’s hope for you, yet. You’ll live to a ripe old age and tell the world all manner of ridiculous tales about me.”

The sun was rising in the distance. They would need to be on their way soon. But Geralt wasn’t quite ready to wake Dandelion just yet. He shifted so that his back blocked the sun, keeping Dandelion’s face in the shade.

The movement caused Dandelion’s breath to catch, his shoulders trembling. Geralt squeezed his arm, then resumed stroking his hair. 

He snorted. “If you’re not too busy bedding all the women you meet, perhaps you’ll keep an eye on Ciri for me. Vesemir will watch her, when he can, but she needs someone with your heart. It would do her well.”

Geralt sighed, bending over once again to press a kiss to the bard’s cheek. “I’ll miss you, Dandelion, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget all about me.”

“Just think where I’d be without you bard. I’d never have met Yen nor Ciri, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have known what to do. Neither of them are stubborn in quite the same way as you. After all, if you hadn’t clung to me, I wouldn’t have learned what to do with humans.”

He looked up at the sky, studying the way the light filtered through the trees. For several long moments, the camp was silent.

“Ger’lt?” Dandelion finally stirred, his blue eyes fluttering open. He moaned and shifted, then seemed to realize he was half in Geralt’s lap and gave the Witcher a quizzical look.

“You were muttering in your sleep, bard,” said Geralt simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’d be really sweet if Dandelion was secretly awake, but no, he wasn’t. Mostly because, if he was awake, he wouldn’t be capable of staying quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [Follow me on Tumblr](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/). I accept prompts, fangirling, and accusations of character abuse.


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